Great poems

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Masaccio

© James Russell Lowell

He came to Florence long ago,
And painted here these walls, that shone
For Raphael and for Angelo,
With secrets deeper than his own,
Then shrank into the dark again,
And died, we know not how or when.

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Epistle (Upon his arrival at his estate in Geneva)

© Voltaire

Now hostile Crowds Geneva's Tow'rs assail,
They march in secret, and by Night they scale;
The Goddess comes--they vanish from the Wall,
Their Launces shiver, and their Heros fall,
For Fraud can ne'er elude, nor Force withstand
The Stroke of Liberty's victorious Hand.

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Pharsalia - Book X: Caesar In Egypt

© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus

  Caesar's ears in vain
Had she implored, but aided by her charms
The wanton's prayers prevailed, and by a night
Of shame ineffable, passed with her judge,
She won his favour.

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The Truant Dove, From Pilpay

© Charlotte Turner Smith

A MOUNTAIN stream, its channel deep

Beneath a rock's rough base had torn;

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The River Of Dreams

© Henry Van Dyke

The river of dreams runs quietly down

  From its hidden home in the forest of sleep,

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Ode On The Sailing Of Our Troops For France

© John Jay Chapman

Go fight for Freedom, Warriors of the West!
At last the word is spoken: Go!
Lay on for Liberty. 'Twas at her breast
The tyrant aimed his blow;
And ye were wounded with the rest
In Belgium's overthrow.

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Mothers' Splendid Dreams

© Edgar Albert Guest

Mothers dream such splendid dreams when their little babies smile,
Dreams of wondrous deeds they'll do in the happy after- while;
Every mother of a boy knows that in her arms is curled
One who some day will arise splendidly to serve the world.

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The Columbiad: Book IX

© Joel Barlow

Shrouded in deeper darkness now he veers
The vast gyration of a thousand years,
Strikes out each lamp that would illume his way,
Disputes his food with every beast of prey;
Imbands his force to fence his trist abodes,
A wretched robber with his feudal codes.

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England's Day: A War-Saga

© Sydney Thompson Dobell

Commended To Gortschakoff, Grant, And Bismark; And Dedicated To The British

1871

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Our Canal

© Harriet Monroe

"All that was writ shall be fulfilled at last.
Come—till we round the circle, end the story.
The west-bound sun leads forward to the past
The thundering cruisers and the caravels.
Tomorrow you shall hear our song of glory
Rung in the chime of India's temple bells."

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The Cost Of Praise

© Edgar Albert Guest

THIS morning came a man to me, his smile was wonderful to see,

He shook my hand and doffed his hat then promptly took a chair;

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John Adams Monarchical Ideas

© Mercy Otis Warren

SIR:- You complain that I have asserted that a partiality for monarchy appeared in your conduct

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Anhelli - Chapter 10

© Juliusz Slowacki

And lo, those exiles in the snowy tabernacle,
in the absence of the Shaman, had begun to quarrel among themselves,
and had divided into three groups ;
but each of these groups thought of the deliverance of the fatherland.

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To William Camden

© Benjamin Jonson

Camden, most reverend head, to whom I owe

  All that I am in arts, all that I know

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Butterflies

© Alfred Noyes

  Where were all the butterflies
  When the skies
  Clouded and their bowers of clover
  Bowed beneath the golden shower?
  Every flower
  Shook and the rose was brimming over.

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To Hilaire Belloc

© Gilbert Keith Chesterton

For every tiny town or place

  God made the stars especially;

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Gitanjali

© Rabindranath Tagore

1.

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.

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Our Atlas

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Not Atlas, with his shoulders bent beneath the weighty world,
Bore such a burden as this man, on whom the Gods have hurled
The evils of old festering lands-yea, hurled them in their might
And left him standing all alone, to set the wrong things right.

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Mary Magdalen

© William Cullen Bryant

The greatest of thy follies is forgiven,
  Even for the least of all the tears that shine
  On that pale cheek of thine.
Thou didst kneel down, to Him who came from heaven,
  Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise
  Holy, and pure, and wise.

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Ballade adresse a Geoffrey Chaucer

© Eustache Deschamps


O Socratès plains de philosophie,
Seneque en meurs, Auglius en pratique,
Ovides grans en ta poëtrie,
Briés en parler, saiges en rethorique . . .
Grant translateur, noble Geoffrey Chaucier.